The corner office
by kouw
Summary: It starts with a broken fountain pen, but will it end with some serious stargazing?
1. Prologue

*pops up from behind a rock*

Hi everybody! It's been a while, hasn't it? But I'm trying with this little fic and I would love to hear from you.

xx

kouw

* * *

The morning had been terrific. There had been no indication that by three she would be crying in boardroom number 4, the table covered in black India ink. No, she had simply turned off the alarm, and she had started her routine of the past thirty years without a single hitch.

When she arrived at the top floor, her assistant had her tea ready in her favourite mug and her meetings all went as smoothly as can be expected in a law firm that specialises in family law. Her lunch was delightful as always when courtesy of Mason's and even her eyeliner stayed on point.

It started when the Form E from her most recent 'project' was a shambles, but she had expected that. Not that it didn't irritate her, but it's not the end of the world; after all: forensic accountants need to eat, too. Added to that, it's not the greatest when some junior partners are discussing that morning's Daily Mail headlines instead of getting ready for their own meetings.

Of course it's not fantastic when an intern steps on your foot when you're going into your meeting with the other senior partners. New shoes and big size thirteens are not a perfect match. They had also run out of her favourite biscuits and she'd been craving one all morning.

So when she was in the meeting she surprised not only herself, but also the other person in the room when she started crying when her pen broke and black ink flowed all over the table, her hand and her top.

* * *

When they started their weekly meeting, the boardroom was a model of calm. Just the way Charles prefers his boardrooms to be when he is negotiating a deal or when he is talking to his direct equal: Elsie. He's been working with her for a good twenty-five years and they've seen it all together: the rise in divorce statistics, the novelty of surrogacy and celebrities being plastered all over the media.

In all those years, he's not once seen her cry.

His heart clenches and he rushes to her, putting his hand delicately on her shoulder as she silently weeps. He pulls back and opens the door to call for Elsie's assistant.

"Anna! Anna! We need some paper towels in here!"

Bustling back he finds Elsie still sniffling a little, but calmer. He's always had great respect for the way she's able to hold her own against the greatest of her like this makes him feel oddly uncomfortable. Not because he feels she shouldn't cry, but because he has to use all his willpower to not put his arms around her.

He's not felt that way before. He's a little overwhelmed by the sensation. When Anna comes rushing in with the paper towels and a bucket, he's almost pleased to see her. Dabbing around, he keeps an eye on Elsie. Though she isn't crying anymore, she does look withdrawn and sad. Her makeup is a little smudged and she is sitting very still. He guesses it's because she doesn't want to get the ink to go any further.

Anna is speaking softly and cleaning up the mess with practiced efficiency. She takes Elsie's hands and wipes them. A stabbing pang of jealousy hits Charles.

He watches as Elsie slowly rises from her seat and walks towards the door, almost dazed. Anna follows her and guides her through the hall and into the ladies'.

Charles picks up Elsie's iPad to take back to her office and is surprised to see the screensaver is a photograph of her and himself at the company New Year's party. She is looking radiant: her eyes are sparkling and her cheeks are a little flushed. He remembers she had been dancing and drinking a bit of champagne. And he is looking at her.

With his adoration for her disguisedly on display.

He can hardly catch his breath.


	2. Chapter 1

**Autumn 1987**

The year so far has been an odd one. The start had been cold: snow had blocked railroads and streets, the news of the highest unemployment rate ever had been issued and the General Synod had voted to ordain women. Lady vicars: Charles wasn't sure about that at all. Not that he went to church much, but it somehow felt a lot safer to have a man at the front.

Then spring came and with it the capsizing of the ferry just on it's way from Zeebrugge, killing almost two-hundred people. Margaret Thatcher visited Moscow (her rather than him, he thought at the time) and the late Duchess of Windsor's jewellery being auctioned off. When that happened he kept thinking of his father and how he felt about the infamous Mrs Wallis-Simpson.

Summer rushed by in a flurry, as summers tend to do. There was a mass shooting in Hungerford that had shaken him far more than he was willing to admit; there was a sixty million pound robbery in Knightsbridge.

But now the autumn's come and with it a new senior partner to replace Mr Littleton. Her name is Elsie Hughes and she's been headhunted from a well-known and reputable firm in Edinburgh. Ms Hughes comes with glowing recommendations and so far she has been on the quiet side.

Not quiet as in shy. Quiet as in observant. She goes about her business thoughtfully and without being frightened to ask questions. Her sitting in on his meetings to have a look at how they do things at the firm has been a great help, he's found. She sees things others don't. She gets the secrets out from under the wooly language and the furtive looks.

She is surprisingly easy to talk to. Knowledgeable about her craft and up on current affairs. She is more liberal than he is, but then again: most people are. He is by nature a conservative man. He likes things done properly. He doesn't approve of work romances, or Casual Fridays.

But seeing Elsie Hughes coming towards him from her office, thoughts of how she would look like in a pair of jeans and what it would be like to hold her hand invade his mind and he cannot seem to shake them.

* * *

Working at Grantham House is different from the almost homey firm she used to be at. The stark white walls and floor to ceiling windows are almost intimidating and the people working there seem to be very 'fast'. She often feels like she is a little behind the times, even if she is still comparably young.

Totally unimpressed with the fashionable suits is Charles Carson. He is very different from the others. He wears classically cut suits - expensive ones at that. His shoes are always neatly polished and his hair groomed, but not notably so. He moves with great confidence and isn't afraid to call anyone out on their mistakes or mishaps.

He's respected by the other juniors and looked up to by interns. He treats others with kind, but distant dignity. She feels like he doesn't want to get attached to anyone. Sometimes, when he deems himself unwatched, he radiates a loneliness Elsie recognises.

She keeps up a similar front.

The coming weeks she'll be working very closely together with Mr Carson. They'll be working on a very public case and it's imperative they'll get a favourable outcome. For now they have been discussing the client, the forms and the strategies. There's not only big money involved in this case. It will put the firm on the map and it will gather both Mr Carson and herself great prestige.

With prestige comes a bonus. The bonus can go towards the trust fund. The more bonuses, the less Elsie will have to worry.

She pulls her skirt straight, picks up her notebook and fountain pen and makes her way to the office of her partner. Her _work_ partner.

* * *

 **Spring 2018**

Thirty years she's gone through the paces without once shedding a tear in sight of Mr Carson. Having done so now makes her feel fragile and ashamed. She knows he doesn't like great displays of any kind. She agrees. Theirs is a job that frequently faces emotions getting the better of their clients. Shouting and crying are part of their game. That is why the lawyers keep calm. If they don't, boardrooms would turn into a circus.

She's always tried to keep a balance between her professional and her private self. During her meetings with clients she tries to be sympathetic when needed, but she rarely takes her cases home, emotionally speaking. She has become quite adept at detaching herself.

But not from Charles.

She looks in the mirror. The light in the ladies' is harsh and the lines around her eyes are highlighted by the glare. She quickly looks away. She washes her hands again; black ink keeps filling the basin as she scrubs and rinses. The water is cold. It reminds her of when she was putting herself through school and she was living in a tiny little room with a shower room down the hall. During winter the water would be so cold, it hurt her hands.

They are starting to hurt now as well. The excessive use of soap is making her skin feel raw. She carefully dries them on the paper towels available. They've not gotten to the modernity of ten-second blowers. Elsie wouldn't be surprised if it was Charles who stalled the installation of those. He'd not been pleased about the coffee machine either. When she gets coffee on her way into work, she brings him a plain black coffee, because he finds all that frothy milk and flavoured syrup too outlandish.

She likes him that way. She likes him traditional. He is difficult to shake, though she has noticed that his hand is sometimes trembling when he's getting stressed. Big court cases can really do a number on him, which is extremely worrying. If there was one thing Charles Carson loved to do, it was showing off in court.

With his booming, velvety voice people would be enthralled when watching him standing up in the bench, facing the judge.

Including Elsie Hughes. She still enjoys watching him doing the thing he does best. He's developed a very unique style over the past thirty years and they are getting to an age where people consider retirement. Though she can't imagine Grantham & Pelham without Charles Carson. Or Charles Carson without the firm.

As she looks at herself in the mirror and traces the fine lines by her eyes and lips, she considers life without him.

She doesn't like it.

* * *

Sitting behind his desktop computer and Jurassic monitor, Charles is wondering why Ms Hughes could possibly be crying over a broken fountain pen. Obviously he doesn't pretend to understand women. No. They are elusive to him. But he's known Elsie for thirty years and he likes to think that they are at least on friendly terms. During all these years, he's known her to be very level headed, though perhaps a bit too liberal leaning for his liking. She comforts, but never cries herself. It's all very peculiar.

When she was sitting there, her hand held up almost like in prayer, he had felt a wave of something he'd never felt before crash over him. It had taken him some time to identify the emotion, but in the end it was something he very rarely experiences: protection.

Oh, he protects his good name and his reputation. The reputation of the firm and his assets, but only once before had he felt it for a woman.

Alice.

He'd not thought about her for donkey's years. The little slip of a thing with the crystal voice who had wrapped him around her little finger. She had toyed with him until she was sick of him and had not even bothered to cast him off. Strung along and blind he had followed her around until one day he had found her in the arms of his best friend.

That had done it for him. No more women and no more friends. But it has been thirty-five years and he is often very lonely. Not when he is at work, or when meetings run late. Not when she is there.

He should go to her and ask her if she is alright. He nods to himself. Yes. A capital idea. Even if his hand is starting to shake. He grabs the offending hand and holds it tight. Charles pushes his heavy leather chair back, stands up and with great big steps he makes his way to the corner office where Elsie resides.

* * *

 **AN** : Your reviews have left me completely speechless and overwhelmed. I want to live up to expectations, but it is incredibly hard. Please indulge me until I have found my bearings.

Oh, and if you review as an anonymous guest, that is also really AMAZE, just please realise I can't respond to questions when you do!


	3. Chapter 2

chapter 2

 **Winter 1987**

The first Grantham House office Christmas Party Elsie will attend is going to be a grand affair. The venue will be as posh as the owners of the firm are and everybody there will be dressed up. She knows there will be champagne and cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, a string quartet and she is also very aware there will be speeches.

She isn't a fan of speeches. Listening to some man chuntering on about goals met and a good job well done is simply not her idea of a festive activity. For her, Christmas is a time for reflection and it is a time you spend with your family. If you can.

She sighs. This time of year is never easy. She is going through her filofax trying to figure out how to go about her most important yearly visit. She has a case load piled up to her chin. For half of them she will be working together with Charles Carson and then there will be a few with Beryl Patmore. The first is demanding but easy to work with, the latter is… tricky.

Beryl Patmore has been at the firm for longer than anyone else. She is the embodiment of no-nonsense, and nose to the grindstone. Someone in her care will get the fiercest protection, whilst being berated and pushed about. It's meant in a caring way, but it can be a little overbearing. For Elsie it isn't always easy working with Beryl. As a quiet person it is taking a lot of energy to deal with the loud accusations, appeals and objections. Of course the results are worth Elsie's discomfort - but if she can have the choice, she'd rather work with Mr Carson.

Funny how after almost four months of working together they aren't on a first name basis. With her previous firm she was introduced as 'Elsie Hughes' and from that moment on, everybody called her Elsie. Robert Crawley had introduced her as 'Ms Hughes' and from that moment on, nobody called her by her first name. It set her apart. Someone for the younger staff to treat with respect, just like Mr Carson and Ms Patmore. She appreciated the gesture of that particular introduction, but at times it makes her feel a little isolated.

Lonely.

Her clients oftentimes bare all to her. Their pain still raw or their vulnerability turned into bitterness. When she first started out as a barrister, she wondered if she would make bonds for life with those people who told her about their heartache, but she has learned over time that it doesn't work that way.

She distances herself from her cases. She is kind and she will listen sympathetically. She'll put her hand on shoulders, hand over tissues and treat her clients with the utmost respect. But she doesn't let them in. She can't.

The divide between personal and professional needs to be guarded.

Turning over another page in her filofax, she picks up the pen she was gifted last Christmas. She treasures it above all her other pens and she starts to jot down her important appointment. Nothing is allowed to interfere with it. Two days stuck onto the weekend. She knows she will be taking files with her to peruse on the train and she knows that she will come back on Monday feeling drained, but it's necessary.

When your loneliness is shared by only one other person in the world, you owe it to them to show up and do your bit. Even if it never gets any easier.

* * *

They make a very solid pair when they stand together in court. The tall, broad shouldered barrister who commands respect and the slight Scottish one whose presence is both calming and poised. Working with Ms Hughes is a delight; one he hadn't expected. He doesn't work easily with others. He is more of a delegator. Someone who knows what talents others have and giving everyone the specific task they would excel at. His knowledge and his grasp of the law is almost legendary and he prides himself in being unrelenting when it comes to standards.

Grantham House takes difficult, high profile cases because they have Charles Carson at their disposal and he will do anything in his power to never let a client down. Losing a case is not an option. If you want to settle, that is fine and he will fight for what you feel that settlement should entail, but he will not stand for that settlement being a penny less.

He does like to fight it out in front of a judge though. Taking a case to court is like organising a banquet for a hundred demanding people: all eyes or on the ones responsible for a favourable outcome. Besides, it is a little bit of theatre and he does like to show off. It's in his nature. It's where is youthful faux pas probably stems from.

Ms Hughes doesn't know about this transgression. He hopes she will never find out. He doesn't want to know how much he will descend in her esteem for him. He is certain she never did anything as shameful as he did. Not that he knows much about her. They've worked together for four months now, but she keeps her dealings with him very professional. All he knows is that she went to read English law at the University of Aberdeen and then went on to do an honours degree in Family law in London before moving back to Scotland.

From her personnel file he knows she was born and raised in Scotland and that she is quite young, still. He is impressed with the way she is working herself to the top. He hasn't quite figured out what makes her tick yet, but he is pleased that he has met his match, professionally speaking.

Of course just professionally.

It's two weeks until the Christmas party and he is looking forward to it. Perhaps for the first time. He isn't much of a mingler. He will dance if absolutely necessary (and he isn't that bad of a dancer, just an old-fashioned one) and he will have a drink or two, but he prefers the New Year's reception. Where it is more about making connections, about the firm's network and about showing theirs is a firm to be reckoned with.

Christmas is about family and he hasn't any. Except perhaps in a way 'the family'. The Crawley family has always been very good to him and he respects them. Robert Crawley isn't the brightest light and not the best lawyer anyone could employ, but he is very amiable and kind-hearted in a roundabout way. Charles likes him.

Right now he doesn't have the time to think about who he likes and parties. He has forms to check and meetings to prepare.

* * *

 **Winter 2018**

Had the pen fallen apart any other year, she wouldn't have broken down. She is sure she wouldn't have burst out in tears in front of anyone to see. She isn't by nature a crier. For all of her working life she has portrayed herself as a very sensible, calm and steady person. Even when she was so hormonal she could have clobbered any of her clients over the head with a brick. Even when she had wanted to weep her heart out at times over an abuse case.

Elsie stares at her hands. The remnants of the black ink is stuck in the ridges of her fingerprints. A reminder, as if she needs one. Is it a sign that she should let go of her grief? That can't be it - because she doesn't belief in signs and because she feels she is allowed more than a few days to mourn.

It's just a coincidence. A sad, hurtful coincidence and it aches even more because Mr Carson saw her erupt into tears. Which is just about the last thing she wants to happen. He's always been so calm - a few exceptions may have snuck in over the past thirty years, but in general he is a very reliable sort of person. They are an amazing team. The way they handle cases is used as examples in lecture halls all over the country. Together they have set precedences.

So she doesn't want him to think any less of her.

She turns back to her computer screen. The days that have been kept clear in her planner are glaring at her. The Wednesday looks full, crowded almost. Prenuptial agreement negotiations followed by a meeting with Robert Crawley about his middle daughter's upcoming marriage.

Then four quiet days. Of course she will be perusing some of her files. She is never not working. But there isn't much urgency to it. There won't be a need to take her heavy laptop case with her. She won't be hoping the train will actually show up. The pricy first class ticket won't be purchased.

The Christmas present she's hung on to for weeks will remain in the cupboard under the stairs.

The other presents will be gifted at the Christmas party. Another year, another speech rehashed. Robert will get rip-roaring drunk and Cora will take him off to a side room of the venue where she'll try to sober him up a bit before leaving long before the end.

Elsie never stays much longer. She likes organising a party, but never really enjoys attending one. Up until the mid-Nineties she really enjoyed the waltz that would prompt Charles to ask her to dance. He is a divine dancer. His lead is strong but his touch is gentle and he has rhythm. Something that can't be said for everyone who has asked her to dance.

With the waltz no longer part of proceedings, there isn't much to keep her from begging off with a purse full of hors d'oeuvres long before midnight. Mason's is still an exquisite caterer and having little duck-leg croquettes and arancini to go with a glass of champagne the next day is a luxury she allows herself once a year.

With a smile she turns back to her desk, clicks away her calendar and checks her email again. From the corner of her eye she can see someone coming nearer her office door. There is no doubt as to who it is. The pace, the broad shoulders and the straight back - it could only ever be Charles Carson. Even when she isn't looking straight at him she always knows it is him.

* * *

"Ms Hughes, may I have a moment of your time?"

He doesn't expect her to say 'no', but she could. The question is a courtesy he feels he owes her. Like him she is always working and she may be quite busy. Funny, now he thinks about it, she has never turned him away. There have been times she has told him to keep it short, or to give her a moment or two to finish one thing or another, but never once has she blatantly told him to come back some other time.

"Of course, Mr Carson. How may I be of assistance to you?"

The way she speaks to him makes him feel grounded. Safe, in a way. The respectful but never cowering way she responds to him has not changed over the years. Even when he finds it difficult to say things - for he is inherently traditional and conventional - she makes it easier for him. The changing times are sometimes difficult for him to fathom: social media is such a strange development in his eyes. He just can't wrap his head around it. Why would anyone want to know what he thinks, feels, eats, wears at any given moment of the day.

She has shown him a few times why people quite like to share such mundane things, but it's just not for him. She smiled at him when he said he much rather talks to people in person.

The smile had stirred something deep inside him. A feeling. An odd, warming, confusing feeling he hadn't felt for a very long time. Or maybe ever. Or perhaps it was more that he recognised that feeling since that particular smile. That he allowed himself to acknowledge it.

It's changed everything for him and still everything has remained completely the same.

Naturally _she_ doesn't know that.

"I just wanted to check that you're alright," he says, feeling a little clumsy now.

"Oh aye," she replies, which is a clear giveaway that she isn't. She doesn't let her brogue shine through unless her feathers are a little ruffled.

"You'd tell me if there was anything wrong, wouldn't you?" he asks.

She gives him a little inquiring frown. It makes him jittery all of the sudden and he takes a step back. An awkward silence falls between them. He clears his throat then.

"Alright. Erm. Yes. Best get back… erm. Yes. Lots to do."

As he stalks back to his own office, he can't help but think on that warm smile she gave him just before he turned.

He sinks back into his deep leather office chair and considers that he has never felt this frazzled in all of his life. What a way to start the Christmas season.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 **Christmas 1987**

Champagne flows freely at Downton House Christmas parties and it's not what Elsie is used to. Waiters carry big silver platters around, calculating the amount of time to hover between guests so they can take a morsel and a napkin. People are standing close together, gossiping and joking. This is high level networking and she is not quite taking her first steps in this world, but it's not really her scene either.

She only returned from visiting Becky yesterday and it's left her feeling the way she always does: tired, worried and sad. Elsie has accepted that this is the way she will always feel when she has been with her sister. The institution where Becky lives isn't built to give visitors a positive outlook on the progression of the people living there. It's an end station, not a platform somewhere along the line.

Was Becky pleased to see her? Perhaps. You can rarely tell. Becky doesn't show emotion. She doesn't do much of anything, really. Once she was once mostly aggressive, but aggression has turned catatonic and no cocktail of medications so far has helped her get out of it. Elsie doesn't pretend to understand medical science or psychiatric practice, but a part of her wonders if it is because of the drug abuse Becky's body has already sustained. Too much of a bad thing has left her once sweet, gentle sister an empty husk. The doctors have told Elsie that it's something of a two-for-the-price-of-one: schizophrenia and drug abuse.

There are less than twenty-four hours between Elsie's holding her sister's hand and standing in a lavishly decorated London hotel. She is feeling distinctly shaky. In this crowd of people there are few she recognises. She has her hand wrapped around her glass of orange juice and slowly walks from one end of the room to the other. Observing.

Looking around she sees Robert Crawley in conversation with his mother; his wife is standing next to them with an almost vacant smile. Beryl Patmore is joking around with someone who might be the head of catering. Her other new colleagues are already starting to get legless and some have even managed to start the dancing off.

On the far end of the room, as far away from her as possible, is Charles Carson. He is holding a glass with a transparent liquid that from here could be anything from a glass of water to a G&T. He too is regarding the crowd. When he looks her way, their eyes meet and she involuntarily gives him a smile.

He nods respectfully and Elsie takes a deep breath as he takes measured strides towards her.

"Ms Hughes," he greets her and holds up his glass in a little toast.

She returns the gesture. "Mr Carson."

"So what do you think of this little party?" he asks as they now look at the crowd together, side by side.

Strange how this feels more intimate than she's felt with anyone in a very long time.

"If this is a little party, I am a little worried what a big party looks like."

They watch people dancing on New Wave music.

"I could never do that," Mr Carson remarks and Elsie nudges him with her elbow.

"I wouldn't think anyone would want to!"

"You are too young to throw the joys of life away, Mr Hughes," he says.

"Perhaps."

* * *

They've not worked together for more than six weeks and yet she is more familiar to him than some who has known for years. She is quietly confident, which he very much appreciates. Getting on with things, the way they ought to be done. No loud bragging or showing off: just getting excellent results with a minimum of fuss. Though she will let people know it was because of her skill that they have won.

She is complicated, but pleasantly so. Like a painting that strikes you at the first glance and when you get closer, you'll see how intricate it really is.

He can't help but shake his head at himself. What a peculiarly romantic notion. That's not like him. Or rather: that hasn't been like him for almost twenty years. He fell too deep, too soon then. He can't afford to let that happen again.

He takes a furtive glance to the side. Elsie Hughes is small in stature with fine bones and clear, sparkling eyes. She isn't a classic beauty, but she is very attractive indeed. He wouldn't be surprised if she has a bloke.

Still, it will be very nice to work with her and much better for him, too. She has a good head on her shoulders and a way with clients that seems come natural to her, no matter the situation. He's not seen her come into a meeting looking less than composed and her work is always in order and on time.

Yes. A nice working relationship lies ahead of them, he is sure of it.

He checks her glass: it's partially filled. She is looking at the dancefloor. The music has changed. Robert is taking his mother for a waltz. It's not entirely clear who is leading, though Charles has an idea. He feels Ms Hughes sigh.

"Would you care to dance?" he asks.

He hasn't danced in a decade and he was only ever adequate when it came to the old-fashioned ballroom dances. His father had sent him to dance lessons, telling him he'd have the upper hand if he could dance. Girls love a fellow who can twirl them around.

"Thank you," she answers and takes his hand.

* * *

 **Christmas 2018**

Elsie moves around the side of the room, looking at her young colleagues getting drunk and moving to the music. A lot of them are wearing what they are calling 'ugly Christmas jumpers'. Some of them light up, others even have a little music sensor that produces tinny tones of Christmas songs. She is wearing an old frock. She didn't have time to buy a new one and this one still fits.

On the other end of the room she sees Robert Crawley talk to Edith. Cora is pouring Isobel Crawley a glass of champagne. The old lady is sat on a sofa placed strategically so one could see the door as well as the bar. Well into her eighties, Violet Crawley will not quietly ease into retirement.

Mr Carson is coming Elsie's way carrying two glasses of champagne. He is looking very dapper in his suit and recently shined shoes. His hair sparkles silvery in the soft light of the chandeliers.

"Ms Hughes," he says and hands her a glass.

"Mr Carson."

They stand together companionably. The awkwardness she had felt so vividly the day her pen broke (or rather: when she broke) has dwindled.

"Have you had a good few days away?" he asks and Elsie stiffens. She grips the glass a little tighter.

"Not really."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Charles responds courteously, without asking any further. That is why it is so quaint she blurts out, totally unprompted:

"I went up to Scotland to bury my sister."

* * *

Charles blinks a few times, processing what his colleague just said. Then he takes her glass, puts it on a conveniently placed high table and takes her elbow.

"Come on," he says and steers her through the crowd. He is vaguely aware she is looking up at him while they walk, but he is too busy to find a quiet space for them to talk to pay much attention.

"Mr Carson, please. I am quite capable of walking, you know."

He lets go of her arm.

"I'm sorry."

"That's alright."

They stand across from the other in a long corridor. There are no other people about.

"What do you mean you went up to Scotland to bury your sister?" he asks gently.

"My sister passed away two weeks ago."

"I didn't know you had a sister." He has known Elsie Hughes for thirty years and she still regularly surprises him.

"Becky. A few years younger than I was. She wasn't well. Had not been for a long time."

Charles looks at Elsie intently. There are dark circles under her eyes, vaguely visible through her makeup. Her bottom lip is a little damaged. He is a little alarmed that he even notices this. He is sure he wouldn't see it in anyone else. His heart speeds up at this discovery.

"I am very sorry for your loss," he says, filling the silence with an automatic phrase.

"Thank you."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

She shakes her head. Her auburn hair gleams in the low lamplight.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. But thank you."

She puts her hand on his forearm and he can feel the warmth through the sleeve of his jacked and his shirt.

"Is there anything else I can do for your?"

He feels at a loss - he is a man of figures and of professional detachment. It's why they make a killer combo. Elsie is the one who does the touchy-feely stuff. Not that he is completely inadequate when it comes to comforting. He does have his moments. He looks up into her face and finds her smiling sadly at him.

Before he knows what he is doing, he takes a step forward and envelopes Elsie Hughes in his arms, gently pulling her close. For a moment he worries she will push him away and that she'll put him in his place with a few choice words.

Instead she leans against him and he can feel her shuddering sigh.

He doesn't know how long they stand pressed together, chest to chest, but he feels he could be like that forever.

But he doubts she feels the same.

* * *

A/N: I am **not** a medical/psychiatric expert - my information comes from doing the googlie.  
 **MORE IMPORTANTLY, IF YOU ARE SUFFERING YOU CAN FIND HELP ONLINE HERE**  
Mental help: UK  . / \- US  .gov/  
Substance abuse help: UK - US  .gov/

(Also: I very much need a rewatch, I can't apologise enough)


	5. Chapter 4 (end)

chapter 4

 **Christmas 2018**

They stand pressed together in the dimly lit corridor for a long time. In the background he can hear the sounds of the party going strong. He can smell her shampoo and he feels how her breathing is evening out a little. He is strangely comfortable holding Elsie in his arms like this.

When he thinks back, it's always felt right when he's held her in his arms. Even if that happened only once a year, during the Christmas party. When they were still playing a waltz. Times have changed and with it the need for structured dancing at parties. Charles remembers when Elsie started at the firm, there already was a fair bit of squirming happening. The past few years there's been terribly suggestive movements added to that.

He feels almost happy that perhaps it's indeed best for him to retire. Of course he'll miss the style and the show of a big court case and he will miss being a vital and respected member of a well-known, prestigious firm, but in-between his trembling hand and the world having changed so much, this might well be the moment to call it a day.

He has stayed mostly because of her.

Because he'll not see her anymore when he goes and he hasn't been able to tear himself away from her. Standing here like this, with her cuddling closer and sighing contentedly, makes him wonder if he would have to miss her.

He takes a deep breath and plants a delicate kiss on top of her head and she looks up with a tiny smile.

"That was nice," she says and he swallows hard. He can feel her pushing herself up on her toes and he feels a kiss being pressed onto his cheek.

Where her kiss landed feels different from the rest of his cheek. Suddenly he is extremely glad he's shaved before the party.

* * *

 **Christmas 1987**

Mr Carson dances well. Self-assured, but not overbearing. He makes quiet conversation. He steers her through the room and remarks on a lot of people who are dancing around them. He points out Robert Crawley's family and the people invited from other firms. When there's money involved (and there is, a lot of money) parties are never just for fun. She can see business being conducted over devils-on-horseback and gougeres. The world of family law doesn't stop turning just because it's Christmas.

Mr Carson twirls her around the dancefloor with ease and she feels safe in his arms.

It's been a long time since she's felt this safe.

Elsie has seen him working on high profile cases, talking to the press and he has seen him in small conference rooms, trying to make a child feel more at ease. His kindness isn't showy, but it is there, lingering in the background. Almost as if he is a little ashamed of it. He tries not to let it shine through a thick veneer of professionalism, but even Mr Carson lets his guard down sometimes.

Dancing so close to him, she can smell his cologne and she thinks him very handsome indeed. He is tall and he carries himself well. It's making her feel things she hasn't felt in a while. Not just a rush of desire (because she won't lie to herself about that), but the sense that maybe there might be a life for her. When things are more steady. When Becky is better and when there's time to spend on Elsie.

It would be wonderful to have a life with someone in it. Someone to love. Someone who is capable of loving her back. Who doesn't just take, who doesn't try grab the tiny bit of energy still left dedicated to her own life. Though she doesn't think Mr Carson would be like that. He might be on the traditional side, but he would definitely pull his weight. The way he dances with her shows that. He keeps a respectful distance from her and he doesn't let his hand wander. He talks to her without making crude jokes or sexist remarks.

In a perfect world, Mr Carson might well be the man she would be able to love.

Sadly, the world is far from perfect.

She counts to ten in her head and shakes off her thoughts. Tonight is not for musings. Tonight is for partying.

* * *

Ms Hughes dances easily, following his more intricate steps without fail. She is like that in mutual meetings and cases as well: she understands him completely. Sometimes she takes the lead, but only when she thinks it's for the best and she has not been wrong so far. The past six weeks have been some of the most pleasurable working weeks in his life.

She responds to his conversation thoughtfully and rewards his compliments with smiles and blushes. She looks very young then. She doesn't normally look young. She looks serious. As if she carries a great weight upon her shoulders. Maybe one day he will be brave enough to ask her more about her life.

They turn and float past the other couples dancing. From time to time he gives Ms Hughes some information about a client, a junior partner or judge. These parties are for work, not just for pleasure. He wouldn't know how to fully relax at a party given by his employers anyway. He drinks his champagne and switches to water after two glasses. He keeps himself in check. He notices that Ms Hughes does the same.

He has known her for less than two months and he already can be certain that Elsie Hughes will not be trifled with. That she is strong and that she knows what she is worth. He knows that she works magic in the spaces between dark and light. He knows Grantham House is lucky to have acquired Ms Hughes' favour.

Charles just hopes that perhaps one he will be in her favour, too.

He feels he could be with her. That she would gently chide him when his conservative thoughts bubble to the surface and she would be happy to look after him. He would happily look after her. But not now. It's too soon. He wouldn't know how to make it happen anyway.

Maybe in a few years he'll have plucked up courage.

* * *

 **Christmas 2018**

A kiss. unexpected but very welcome. For many years Elsie thought that it would stay with fantasising and a dance at the Christmas party. But here she is, pressed against Charles and she is feeling something she hasn't felt in a very long time: like she belongs. This is where she was always supposed to be. In the arms of the man she has loved for so long.

While she still had Becky to worry about she couldn't let herself love Charles the way she wanted. With the heartbreaking loss of her sister (because it is still heartbreaking when your sister lapses back into addiction multiple times, when her schizoaffective disorder is renames schizophrenia, when institutions are dissolved in favour of assisted living arrangements that don't work either) it opens up an opportunity. One Elsie will have to grab with both hands. Without fear.

So she returns his kiss. Little more than a peck on the cheek. But a leap at the same time. She bites down on her bottom lip as she looks at him, before putting her head against his chest again.

In his eyes were the many evenings they sat together working on a brief. The hours spent preparing a court case. The years they spent together working side by side. She knows he will understand that she is fragile right now. That the death of her sister is going to take time to heal. Elsie hopes he saw in her eyes that she doesn't care about the tremor.

She doesn't care that they are getting on. That it's high time he retired (she can see his confusion when they using social media accounts as proof and she can tell he doesn't understand the way young people are afraid to talk on the telephone) and that she might join him. The trust fund she started for Becky isn't empty (even if she tried her damned best) and she will be collecting a good pension from Grantham House.

If she wants, she can be free.

If she dares.

She sighs against his waistcoat. She is so much shorter than he is. She fits perfectly against him. Safely tucked away in his arms.

Then she hears footsteps coming from around the corner and they spring apart. It's Robert.

"Hey, you two. This is not the time to confer on courtroom strategy. There's a couple of the new kids who are competitive dancers. They're trying to teach the others to waltz. You two really should go in and show them how it's done."

Elsie looks at Charles who takes her hand.

"Shall we dance, then?"

"Why, Mr Carson. I thought you'd never ask." She smiles at him again and is more than pleased to see him smile back.

He guides her down the corridor, following Robert Crawley and on then onto the dancefloor. The skirt of her dress flares out as he swirls her into his arms.

They waltz. Like they have done so many times before. They turn and talk and ignore the competitive dancers trying to improve their movements. For Elsie this is the first dance of a new life. The dance that will sweep her away from her corner office and into a life unknown.

A life she dreamt of thirty years ago.

* * *

 **A/N:** I don't know why I wrote a Christmas story just as summer is starting - but I am so glad you welcomed me back so enthusiastically and kindly. To all the guest reviewers: thank you so much for your support. It's all been terribly appreciated.  
Until we all meet again 3


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